Nina

Jaxon moves to my side, his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure this out,” he says, his voice steady.

I nod, but inside, I’m falling apart. Elijah’s right about one thing: time is running out.

The smug bastard had slipped through our fingers like smoke, leaving behind nothing but chaos and a threat that sticks in my mind like a thorn.

Jaxon sits across from me, his shirt ripped and bloodied. His knuckles are bruised, and there’s a cut across his jaw that’s still bleeding. ...